


Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

by california_112



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: 238 Squadron (OCs), 666 Squadron, 701 Squadron, Christmas, Competition, Gen, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: Halon looked around the room critically, seeming to take in all the details, and some of the men squirmed uncomfortably in their seats."He's looking into the three standalone squadrons in this area on a special mission," the Air Commodore continued, "one which I'm sure you will all be interested in. Lance?"-or-A sedate Christmas at 666 goes out the window with the arrival of Group Captain Halon and his special mission.ABSOLUTELY 0% SPOILERS FOR ANYTHING
Kudos: 2





	1. 23rd: Short Notice

The staff car stopped outside Rawlham’s damp farmhouse with a short skid, wheels slipping in the carpet of slowly mulching leaves. As it's passengers disembarked, and Taffy saw who they were, he ran into the mess to break the news.

"It's the Raymonds!"

His fellow officers of 666 squadron looked around quickly at the shout, half confused and half wary. Biggles lowered his newspaper sedately to reply.

"'The Raymonds'- what's that, a music group or something?"

"No, Air Commodore Raymond and his son, and someone else I don't recognize." Taffy clarified. "They've just pulled up outside, I think they're looking for-"

"Biggles?" Squadron Leader Raymond appeared in the mess slightly ahead of the others, and extended a hand to the man who had so recently saved his father's life*.

"David, good to see you." Biggles greeted. "Is this a social call? Do sit down."

"We haven't time, I'm afraid," David Raymond replied, gesturing to the others who had arrived with him, "we've somewhere else to go after this, so can't stay too long."

Algy abandoned his book to enter the conversation, interested. "What's this all about?"

"If it's another mission, then I'm busy." Ginger murmured under his breath, prompting discreet agreement from his fellows.

Air Commodore Raymond stepped forwards, and gestured to the third member of their party, a Group Captain by the rings on his sleeve.

"This is Lance- Group Captain Halon," he introduced, "he's the WAAF liaison for this area."

A mutter dissipated around the room, and Algy briefly wondered if this visit had anything to do with the recent bout of late returns from the squadron's evening drives. Halon looked around the room critically, seeming to take in all the details, and some of the men squirmed uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's looking into the three standalone squadrons in this area on a special mission," the Air Commodore continued, "one which I'm sure you will all be interested in. Lance?"

"Thank you." Halon came closer, addressing them in a surprisingly normal voice for one with such a grave expression. "I am in the process of selecting a venue for the WAAF Christmas party." He waited for the chatter to subside. "The other candidates are at Dewton and Fourfield. Whichever of your squadrons is the best dressed up when I return to judge them tomorrow evening wins the prize of hosting the party on Christmas day." His face moved to slightly resemble a smile. "Good luck."

Anxious to finish their round of errands, the news bearers left quickly, only David Raymond lingering for a moment, as though deciding whether or not to say something. Eventually, though, he got into the car, and it drove off into the gathering dusk. Biggles was looking around his stunned officers, feeling the same.

"Short notice, what?" Bertie said cheerfully, eventually breaking the silence, "I wonder what old Wilks will be doing."

"Wilks?" Biggles questioned, still processing this unexpected development. "Oh, he's the squadron at Dewton."

"They've got no chance," Ferocity muttered, "that lot can't even organize their trophy wall, let alone an entire party."

"I wonder who's at Fourfield." Angus asked the room at large, diplomatically ignoring the comment.

Everyone thought for a minute, but nobody could recall. "I guess we'll find out sooner or later," Henry pointed out, "there can't be that many shops in this area, we're bound to meet some of them somewhere."

"They'll take the good stuff before us…" Tug said, half getting up as he realised the impact this would have on their chance of hosting the WAAFs.

But it was Tex's cry of "Hey, that's true!" which rallied the group to action, and only a pause to gain hasty permission from Biggles stopped them before they bundled into a truck and were gone.

"At least they're keen," Biggles remarked dryly to Algy, watching the truck pull out of the farmyard with a wild lurch, "we can hardly lose with that spirit."

"I don't know…Wilks will certainly put up a fight. And this third squadron is an unknown quantity." Algy turned to his friend "If the lads are going to find their opposite numbers, how about we try and find ours?" he suggested. "Let's not bother with Wilks' lot, I don't think I want to see more of Bitmore than is absolutely necessary, but a quick trip to Fourfield shouldn't do us any harm."

"Good idea," Biggles agreed, "something like a courtesy."

Telling Toddy where they were going, the pair took a tender and cruised the fifteen minute drive through frosty fields, bare of crops until the spring finally came. When they came across Fourfield, it was more by accident than design- they rounded a corner and a host of buildings appeared from behind thick trees, almost imposing in their proportions. It wasn't a farmhouse so much as a small country estate, made of bright red bricks and a neatly tiled roof. A columned porch and handful of matching outbuildings completed the picture, and Biggles decided to take the time to park the tender neatly rather than abandoning it as usual, feeling as though he was being judged by invisible eyes.

Algy led the way through an overlarge front door into a double-height entrance hall, clearly not as grand as it once had been but still impressive. To their right, a staircase curved up to the floors above, whilst ahead of them was a large open space littered with chairs, tables, and magazines. There didn't seem to be a sign of life in the whole place, until footsteps were heard descending the stairs, along with two voices.

"…an eye on them, Fiver, I'm sure they're sneaking out somehow."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't want to be unduly harsh, but there is a war on, and they do have to fight it."

"I understand, sir."

Two officers rounded a corner on the stairs, and quickly spotted the two figures in the hallway. With a pat on the arm, the most senior one broke away, quickly coming to greet them. He was average height with rugged, square features, though grey eyes sparkled above a wide smile.

"Gentlemen, I am so sorry, have you been waiting long?"

"No, we only just arrived," Biggles reassured, "Squadron Leader…?"

"Stagg, Dorian Stagg." They shook firmly as the other man arrived, tall, thin, and walking with a slight limp. "This is my adjutant, Flight Lieutenant 'Fiver' Fines."

"Pleased to meet you." They also shook hands. "If I might be excused, I have quite a lot of work to catch up on."

"Of course." Stagg lead his guests through the mess to his office, closing the door and inviting them to sit. "Now, what can I do for you fellows?"

Biggles took up the silent offer to smoke as Algy explained their presence. "I'm Flight Lieutenant Algy Lacey, this is Squadron Leader Bigglesworth- we're from 666 squadron, just down the road. We heard that you were in on this competition to host the WAAF Christmas party, and thought we'd drop by- I don't think we've met before?"

"I shouldn't think so, we're new around here- 238 Squadron. We're on Typhoons, mixed work."

"That certainly sounds interesting," Biggles said, "we should talk tactics sometime."

"Sometime when this competition isn't in my head, sure." Stagg shook his head. "We're in on it alright, all my lads rushed off to the village just before you came. I hope it doesn't cause too much tension!"

"I'm sure all our officers can behave well if they try." Biggles grinned, and the three of them shared a laugh.

Stagg paused before his next words. "666- say, I think I've heard of you a bit! You're Biggles, right?"

"That I am," Biggles said with a smile, "I hope you've heard good things."

"Certainly some good stories." Stagg grinned. "I think I should leave it to my boys to tell our handful of squadron legends. These are a rare bunch- we've had enough people come and go over the months, but they all work together like a machine when they need to."

"It'll be great to meet them sometime," Algy said, glancing at the clock, "but for now it's nice to have met you. I've a feeling that Biggles and I might want to get back before our lads do to contain the chaos. They ran off to buy supplies as well." He explained.

Biggles snuffed his cigarette and they all shook hands again. "It was good to meet you, I hope we'll see more of you around."

"I'm sure you will," Stagg replied, eyes twinkling, "the lads find it hard to stay out of trouble."

With their goodbyes said, Biggles and Algy headed back to 666, chatting about their new neighbours. Stagg seemed decent enough, and their airfield was certainly ornate. A typhoon squadron was not what either had expected, so their private bet for Spitfires against Hurricanes was void, but it would be interesting to fly with a lesser-seen aircraft type.

As soon as they caught sight of the farmhouse at Rawlham, it was clear that the officers had arrived back before them. The truck was parked haphazardly near the front door, and a trail of tinsel led inside. Following it, the mess was an uncontrolled explosion of Christmas spirit, each of them having paid for whatever decorations they could find, or the materials to make them. Biggles chuckled at the slightly scared looks he received, afraid of being told off, but he simply waved a hand for them to continue. A friendly competition was just the right way to settle their new neighbours in.

*See [Fall From Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682813)


	2. 24th: Perfecting Every Paperchain

It was the day before Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was stirring, especially the mouse. Whilst his comrades decorated around him, Algy had been allotted the unenviable task of chasing the rogue rodent out of the mess, as it was not exactly something desirable at a Christmas party. Armed only with a broom and his quickly-failing enthusiasm, he aimed to finish the task as quickly as possible, unwilling to spend the whole day on pest control. There was a particularly large stack of paper on one of the tables, and he had the perfect plan for it.

* * *

At 701 squadron, they were slightly more prepared. Having held a party the previous year, they already had cupboards full of various decorations- though, due to their own rodent problem, not all of these had survived intact. Worried that they were not in as strong a position as they had suspected, B flight leader McCawley led his fellows once more into the village, hoping to find some last-minute gems that would help them to win. Their CO would never forgive them if he lost another competition to Bigglesworth- they’d heard tall tales of the men’s rivalry in the last war.

* * *

Stagg and 238 squadron had their own problems. Their buildings natural grandeur was both a help and a hindrance; whilst the staircase was the perfect place to have a tall, impressive Christmas tree, finding any such item in the middle of a war would be very difficult. Pooling the items they had got from the village the day before, they wondered how to make them fit together in something akin to co-ordination, sure that the other squadrons would be far more prepared than they, new to the neighbourhood. Vowing to do their best, the first string of paperchains went up.

* * *

Halfway through the afternoon, 666 squadron deemed themselves just about as Christmassy as they were going to get. The halls were decked with several boughs of holly, which Biggles didn’t completely approve of, and Ginger had once again worked his magic and come up with a decent Christmas tree. Tinsel abounded, paper stars were aplenty, and a few boxes had been decorated as mock-presents, just for the atmosphere. With the judges soon to arrive, all hoped that their efforts had been enough to win them the honour of the WAAFs, knowing that it would definitely be a party to remember.

* * *

Wilks surveyed his own squadron’s efforts, feeling impressed. Not only was the inside of the mess decorated, but the outside too- the skilled Flying Officer Heron had bent some scrap metal to vaguely resemble reindeer, and these now sat just outside the entrance. A large Christmas tree stood in the centre of the main room, sparsely but spiritedly decorated, and everyone was pleased with their achievements within such a limited timeframe. There was one thing lacking, however- music! The officers scrambled for their small private record collections, hoping to turn up something that would become the life of the party.

* * *

Fiver limped lightly through the mess, looking at the efforts of the pilots. They really had gone all out, well as far as they could- candles glittered in their holders, and some carved wooden decorations produced from somewhere were strung in a garland over the fire. Most of the room was cleared as a dance floor, with mistletoe from a tree near the perimeter hung from the ceiling. For their first Christmas in the buildings, they had settled in well, and he was glad. They’d moved around so much recently, it was nice to finally have somewhere to call home.

* * *

The judge was quick in his appraisals, Halon’s sharp summaries of each effort slightly disappointing compared to the hours spent perfecting every paperchain. For each of the squadrons, it was a nervous evening of waiting to receive, guiding a brief tour, then seeing out, before a nervy evening wondering if they had been good enough. Once again, David Raymond almost spoke to Biggles, but refrained at the last minute.

With the results not due until the morning, all the involved airmen went to bed filled with anticipation, keen to know who the lucky lot would be to hold the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa just in time well not quite but lets ignore that


	3. 25th: The Perfect White Christmas

Even coming from the squadron office, the ring of the telephone was shrill in the quiet farmhouse, and instantly awoke all those sleeping upstairs. As the pilots rose from their beds, stumbling sleepily into the corridor, Toddy darted between them, far more accustomed to being woken in such a manner than any of the others. Almost gliding down the staircase, he managed to snatch up the instrument on its penultimate ring.

"666 Squadron."

As he listened to the message, he was joined by Biggles and the flight commanders, who were desperately hoping this wasn't a surprise mission. When he finally rang off, Toddy looked annoyed, but not quite that annoyed.

"We lost the competition." He said abruptly, and there was a collective growl from the mess.

"Don't tell me that Wilks and his 701 hounds won it." Algy said, disbelieving.

"Oh, no, we didn't quite suffer that defeat," Toddy reassured them with a bleak smile, "it was the newcomers who came first. 238."

Jaws dropped. Ginger pushed his way to the front of the crowd, clearly annoyed, and stared at the telephone whilst declaring "Well, that's just not fair. We've been here for years, yet these typhoon-wallahs turn up just a couple of weeks ago and steal the show! I mean-"

"To be fair, they had the better groundwork." Algy pointed out. "Did you ever see their buildings?"

"No, but-"

"It's practically a mansion." Biggles said flatly. "We should have known from the start that they would steal the show."

The phone rang again, and this time Biggles answered. "666 squadron."

"Hey, Biggles!" It was Squadron Leader Stagg, grinning audibly. "Have you heard? You're invited to our place!"

"Yes, we got the message," Biggles said evenly, "well done. Anything you need?"

"Well, if you've any dance records, ours got cracked in the move. Would you mind…?"

"No trouble at all. See you after lunch."

He hung up and relayed the message. The disgruntled but now slightly more appeased pilots headed off to get dressed, happy that at least it would be their music that was the life of the party, if not their buildings and decorations.

The morning was spent opening presents and cards from home and each other, exchanging greetings and serving the airmen their Christmas lunch in the traditional style. Then, after dressing in their best uniforms, the entire staff of the station crammed into trucks, laden with records and a few of their favourite decorations, headed for Fourfield.

As they drew closer, they noticed that it wasn't just heavy frost still on the ground, but something more- it had snowed overnight, just not at Rawlham. As they pulled up and jumped down, an inch of powder crunched under their boots, and as the pilots looked up at the buildings for the first time, they saw why this squadron had won. The rooves were iced as though on a Christmas cake, and there were even small drifts at the bases of the blacked out windows. As the door was opened to admit them, soft lights twinkled from inside, reflecting off some bent-metal deer sitting just beside the columns of the porch.

"701's already here," Biggles commented, "their truck's parked up."

"And those must be their reindeer." Ginger said, now understanding what Flying Officer Heron had been hinting at when they had met in the village.

Heading inside, the 666 offerings quickly added to the mess, which was crammed with decorations of all kinds, and the records were spirited away to the player with warnings about damaging them. Besides the men of 701 and 238 squadrons, there were also a good deal of WAAFs, who now started dancing as 'Swinging The Blues' began. As the edges of the room cleared, Biggles spotted three more figures hovering hesitantly: the two Raymonds and Group Captain Halon.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Biggles opened, "this really is a wonderful party."

"I hope you can appreciate why we chose this place, Bigglesworth," Air Commodore Raymond said, "it just has that…atmosphere."

"And size." Halon added.

"And it snowed right before we got here last night." Squadron Leader Raymond grinned.

He suddenly fixed Biggles with a stare, saying "Squadron Leader, might I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course, David."

The two of them moved into the unoccupied office of Squadron Leader Stagg, knowing that he wouldn't mind. David closed the door, then hesitated. Biggles took it up.

"You've been meaning to say something for a while. What is it?" he asked, not unkindly.

Steeling himself, the younger officer decided not to beat about the bush any more. "I'm being posted to an active squadron. I can fly," he continued, before Biggles could say anything, "I learned early on, even though I haven't been at it for a while. The thing is, I put in the request a year ago, when things were going slowly in my part of the world and I was still a Flight Lieutenant. Now that I've been promoted, and seen what help I can be to intelligence…"

"You don't want to anymore." Biggles nodded sympathetically.

"No. And I would tell my father, but he saw how keen I was to put in for it. If I went back on that…"

"I understand." He looked at David slightly critically. "But how can I help? You know I'm not in that kind of a position."

"If I get my father to post me with 666, then you could say I'm no good in combat and I would be sent back." David said, and it was clear to Biggles that he had been planning this speech in his head for a while. "I'm not a coward, really, but I know I can be of more use elsewhere."

Biggles was surprised at this sudden announcement, and didn't hide it. "You know there's no place for another Squadron Leader with us. If you came here you'd definitely be demoted."

"I'm still willing. When they put me back to intelligence, I'll get my rank back."

In the silence of thought that followed, the tune in the mess finished, changing to 'Intermission Riff'. Biggles surveyed the young man in front of him, considering what this meant. It was very out of the blue, and he wasn't quite sure what to say. The plan had holes, big ones, but between their connections, it seemed as though it could be made to work.

"I'm due to get some new men in the new year, your father warned me about them." Biggles said finally. "If you come to my place as a Flight Lieutenant or even as a Squadron Leader to keep an eye on them, that might work."

"D flight?" David smiled slightly. "That would be fine by me."

"Our sector's cooling down slightly anyway," Biggles said, "what with the Battle of Britain seeming pretty much over." He reached out and clapped David on the shoulder. "Between us, we'll make it work."

They headed back out into the party, noticing that the volume of the record player had been turned up, and David immediately re-joined his father, speaking to him quietly.

As darkness fell, the party became more and more lively, particularly after Group Captain Halon took his leave, along with Air Commodore Raymond. As some kind of agreement had apparently been reached, David Raymond remained, getting used to the social life of the squadrons. Everyone was having a good time, and as Biggles stepped outside for a breath of air, he found it to be snowing- it was the perfect white Christmas after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> better late than never...
> 
> Another late finisher, but at least it's here. A teaser for more to come, what will happen when David comes to 666?

**Author's Note:**

> its christmas time again!
> 
> Shorter than my entry for last year, but I was pressed for time- and split five ways. Hope this is enjoyed!


End file.
